


Some Nights

by Nomelah



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Complete, F/M, I am evil, Post-Fall of Overwatch, and I love it, annnngst, enjoy, i love angst too much, pre-recall of overwatch, reader was Blackwatch member, there will probably be two parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:19:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomelah/pseuds/Nomelah
Summary: After the fall of Overwatch, you were left alone to your thoughts. Nobody came to find you, and you didn't seek them out. You were dead anyways. And then you found him, or rather, Jesse found you.





	1. Intruder

Some nights were better than others. On some nights, you could eat a meal, you could sleep a full six hours. Those nights were the good nights. 

Other nights weren't. You'd wake up in a cold sweat, the names of your former colleagues and friends finding their way from your lips through strangled cries as you jolted up away from your confining sheets. Or you'd see things, sometimes you'd see the silhouette of a friend across the room. Sometimes you saw monsters. Your heart would race until you thought you would die, and the sweat would start pouring down your face and covering your body in a sticky film. You'd wake in a panic attack, with the sheets strangling you. Those nights happened often.

Occasionally, during a job, you'd still see people from your past life. A woman walking down the street who looked like the agent who'd always hung around with Ana, or a man in the supermarket who you could swear was Jack Morrison. You'd always double take, taking a few steps back and staring for a few seconds, while you realized that the woman on the street was not Ana's best friend. And the man in the supermarket was not Jack Morrison, because Jack Morrison had died in the flames of the Swiss Headquarters. 

Just like you had. 

According to files around the world, you had been in the headquarters the night of the explosion. In reality, it had been a processing error. An error that never had been fixed, because Overwatch was promptly disbanded. You had really been in Moscow, Russia, on a solo Blackwatch assignment. 

This error had probably saved your life, as well as ending it. To the world, you were dead. The assassins sent after other former Overwatch agents never came to find you, leaving you a severe case of survivor's guilt and a constant paranoia about being discovered.

Due to your situation, you took up a new name, relocated every couple of months, and avoided making permanent relationships. You'd take up random jobs here and there to bring in money, mostly mercenary work. It kept you in shape, and it payed well, so you didn't mind too much. It wasn't too different from your jobs for Blackwatch anyways. Not like you hadn't killed anyone before you started the work. 

These jobs kept you going. They kept your heart pounding and mind sharp. However they weren't enough to make you feel alive. You had a constant ache, an ache for the security of a home, an ache for companionship. 

Granted, towards the end of Overwatch and Blackwatch, life had changed. Tensions were constantly high, the air thick with a foreboding feeling. The rivalry between Captain Reyes and Strike Commander Morrison was heartbreaking. So while you buried yourself in your work, burning the candle at both ends, Overwatch slowly tore itself apart. All those familiar faces in Blackwatch started disappearing. And then McCree left. 

Jesse McCree. 

He'd shown up at your dorm late that night, wearing his white tee and a pair of jeans that clung tight to his body. He smelled faintly of cigars and whiskey. In his scarred hands, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He was uncharacteristically quiet that night, but you were okay with it. You didn't ask the former outlaw if anything was wrong. You knew he would deny it. So you spent the night with him quietly, refilling your glass occasionally. And then he stood at three AM, wishing you a good night. You told him you'd see him tomorrow. He smiled oddly and left you alone to your drunken thoughts.

When you woke up the next morning, Blackwatch was in alarm. McCree had gone missing, stole off at some ungodly hour in the morning, leaving you only with a headache and a huge 'what if'. What if you had asked him what was wrong? What if you convinced him to stay? 

What if you had gone with him?

These thoughts never left you. Even now, you wondered what could have been. 

However, while you still wondered about these things, you also wondered what would have happened to Blackwatch had he stayed. What would have happened to Jesse? Would Overwatch still have torn itself apart? 

You were constantly tormented by these thoughts, even after your "death".

Eventually, you forced yourself to ignore them. You started repressing them when they occurred. But they were never forgotten. 

You'd had a good week. The night terrors and hallucinations had paused. Jobs were easy to find. But while the week had been uneventful, the looming threat of being discovered held you in its grip, its claws tearing into you. It was always a threat, but you'd been in this town for almost a month now. You'd have to move again soon. 

Lately, you'd been traveling town to town in the deserts of the southwestern states. The jobs were easy and quiet. Mostly just bounties on criminals and wanted men. 

You didn't want to admit the reason why you came here. You lied to yourself, telling yourself that you came for the easy jobs and high crime rates. It was easy to blend in here, you could fake an accent pretty well, and everybody suspected everybody, so in a way, you were safe. That's what you told yourself. 

But you knew, you knew deep down the reason why you came here. You came to find him. Maybe 'find' wasn't the right word, but there isn't really a word for hoping that you could somehow happen upon someone by chance. You didn't want to hunt him down, and yet you'd find yourself wondering 'what would he do now, where would he go if he just took a job?'. Did you want to confront him? Did you blame him? You weren't certain. 

You'd hop towns from time to time, staying in a general area for a bit before considering where he'd go next. A part of you felt comforted by this, you felt closer to someone who you used to know. Another part of you hated yourself for it. Jesse McCree had ran when everyone needed him. So why did you want to see him again? Why did you want anything to do with him?

.....

You'd crossed county lines again, creating a new identity and ditching your stolen truck on the side of the road before stealing a motorbike and changing the license with another bike on the way. You'd checked into a motel under a fake name, taking a quick assassination job that very night. 

You parked the bike out back of the motel upon your return, palming through your bag for the room key while still on the bike. Finally, your cold hands found the slim plastic keycard. You shivered, the cold desert air penetrating your wool sweater. It reached temperatures up to 120°F during midday, but late at night the temperature would drop to almost freezing. You quickly learned to bring a sweater to your jobs.

You slipped off of the bike's now warm leather seat, your sore feet landing on the ground with a quiet thud. Pain shot through your arm and you cursed yourself under your breath. It was only a grazed bicep, but it still stung like a bitch.

Your numb fingers fumbled with the keycard before finally inserting it into the scanner. The scanner beeped, flashing a green light before the lock clicked. You drew the card back, tucking it safely back into your backpack. The porch light above the door cast a gleam onto the gun tucked away in your bag. You shoved it further into the bag before zipping it and hoisting it up onto your shoulders. 

You stepped into the foyer of the motel, dropping the bag on the floor with a thud. You sighed, running your cold hands back over your head before pulling out your ponytail holder, allowing your hair to tumble free. You squeezed out of your boots, kicking them onto the floor unceremoniously. Fatigue rushed over you.

You rounded the corner to the tiny living room, but stopped in your tracks upon entrance. Moonlight flooded into the room, providing little light, but you could just make out that oh so familiar view.

The sight of light reflecting off of a pistol. 

You didn't move, unsure if it was just another hallucination, or a real threat. There was a rustling of fabric, and the sound of the springs in the couch popping as someone changed their position. Blue lights shone dimly from some unseen object, but they created blue reflections onto whatever they originated from. A bionic replacement maybe. 

Your eyes flew to your bag in the foyer. It was too far to grab. You wanted your gun. 

The intruder clearly knew you were here, but made no moves. Your arm was too injured to consider hand to hand, but at this point, it was a decision between a bullet to the gut, or hand to hand. You obviously opted for the latter.

You dropped into a quick roll, catching the intruder by surprise when you managed to get past them. They weren't completely unprepared though, as they managed to block your first punch. 

You couldn't see anything, and you swore under your breath as you narrowly avoided a jab to your ribs. They must have dropped the gun. A flash of blue shot towards your face, and you ducked, kicking your leg out to make the intruder lose their balance. They didn't fall, but you heard a grunt and a stumble. You shot back up, heart pounding as you landed a couple jabs on their body. You groaned in pain, were they even human? You must have sprained your wrists upon contact. You gave yourself little time to recover before narrowly dodging another swing. A flash of blue shot out towards your face, and you deflected it without thinking. 

The intruder must have been an omnic or something, because you'd definitely just further injured yourself. You grit your teeth, sending a forceful punch to where you thought the head might be. The blue flashed again, and suddenly your punch collided with metal, and your fist was being squeezed. Your arm was twisted into a bad angle, and then there was a punch to your ribs. 

The wind had been knocked out of you, and you collapsed with a gasp. A foot was planted firmly on your sternum. You couldn't breathe. Hair clung to your sweaty face in clumps. Your heart raced. All that effort to stay alive, and you were taken down by an intruder in your motel. You coughed. 

Something metallic and cold was pressed into your forehead, and a little part of you hated yourself for recognizing the sensation. 

It was so messed up that you could recognize the feeling of a gun being pressed to your head. There was a click, and you closed your eyes.

"I'm only going to ask ya once."

Your heart stopped, and you felt the color drain from your face. Your eyes flew open.

"Who are ya, how'd ya find me, and how many of us did you kill?"

You were about to vomit. This couldn't be happening. That voice was all too familiar. 

"Jesse McCree.." 

Your voice was a rasped whisper, your imitated accent dropped. The gun was instantly removed, and his boot frantically pulled away.

"What the fuckin' hell?" A strangled cry escaped his lips, and you heard him stumble back, landing with a thud on the carpeted floor. "You're s'posed to be dead." His voice was quieted, and then he seemed to be completely overtaken by emotion. "You died with the others, in the Swiss Headquarters! I saw your name on the lists!" Jesse's voice was an enraged roar, and suddenly he was on top you you, his knees straddling your hips and his palms digging into your shoulders. You groaned in pain, but he didn't relent. "I thought you were dead all this time!"

...

You had held onto your anger for so long. Your anger at the UN for disbanding Overwatch. Your anger at Morrison and Reyes for the rivalry that divided your family. Your anger at Jesse for leaving. And your anger at yourself, for not finding a way to save all of them. 

You held onto this anger because you didn't want to feel vulnerable. In your eyes, vulnerability would make it too easy to be hurt again. You didn't want to be hurt. Vulnerability was dangerous. But now, your anger was released. 

...

"Don't you fucking say that to me Jesse!" You cried, flexing against the man atop you. "You aren't allowed to pretend like you ever cared!" Your voice broke, and you were dangerously close to bursting into tears. This seemed to affect him, and his hold on you faltered. You reacted wildly, jolting upright and tackling the man onto his back, ignoring the searing pain in your body. You had flipped the roles now, you straddled his hips, while you slammed closed fists hard against his chest, each punch sending shockwaves of pain up your arm and creating a metallic thuds with each contact. 

Your punches weakened as tears started running freely down your face. Your entire body hurt. Your sprained wrists, bloodied fists, bruised ribs, and the grazed bullet wound in your bicep. But you couldn't feel it right now. All you could think of were your millions of conflicting emotions running through your head. 

When the punches you threw stopped, your bloodied hands gripped the collar of his button up shirt, grasping for any purchase you could receive. You hunched over his body, your legs still straddling your hips, and sobs wracked your body. Tears fell from your eyes, landing on the man below you. He was quiet. You could feel him breathing below you, and you hated yourself for missing him. 

His calloused and warm hands had wrapped around yours. You wrenched your hands away with a jolt. 

"You left Blackwatch." You made out through broken sobs. "You left all of us, and we tore ourselves apart." Jesse shook with sobs. "You left me." You desperately tried to regain control of your breathing, "why did you do it?" Your words were shaky and filled with unspoken emotion. "Why did you leave, Jesse McCree?!" Your voice escalated again, and you shivered.

Jesse didn't answer you. You rolled off of his body, lying on your back next to him now. You were still sobbing, but you made no move to stop yourself. 

"I don't know." 

His voice was a hushed whisper. 

"I'm still askin' myself that. But I ain't satisfied with any of my answers yet. I don't know why I left." The room was quiet, save for the sobs you still let out. "How did you live?"

"Processing error. I was on solo assignment in Moscow, the computer never registered this, so when they were disbanded, anyone who knew I was alive was dead or in hiding. They said I was dead, along with the rest of the agents never found in the rubble after the explosion." You somehow managed to get it out, although it was in broken sobs. You had to pause once to regain some control of yourself.

"Probably saved you from the assassins sent out." He mumbled. There was a shifting next to you, and the blue lights went up. "I lost it in a run in with a pair of 'em. Got this bionic one instead." 

The pain suddenly hit you when you attempted to sit up. You gasped, white hot pain searing all over your body. 

"Shit!" Jesse clambered to his feet, fumbling around in the dark for a few seconds before the light was flicked on. You groaned, covering your eyes with your uninjured arm. 

Before you knew what was happening, you were picked up and on the couch.

"God damn, I'm sorry." He mumbled. 

You blacked out.


	2. Seattle

Your vision was blurry. Dim rays of morning light gave the room a golden glow. Your hands limply felt your gauze wrapped abdomen, wincing at the pain in your arm. Your bicep and hands had been bandaged as well. Your eyes surveyed the work for a moment, before finally leaving your body to look to Jesse.

He was asleep in the rocking chair across from your bed. Emotions welled up in your gut, coiling uncomfortably as you watched him sleep. 

What were you doing? Why did you miss him?

Biting your lip, you closed your eyes, steadying your breathing. The rocking chair creaked, and you could hear him readjusting. Your hand closed in a fist around the blanket on your bed.

"I know you're awake." His voice was hushed. Your eyes opened, facing him with a cold stare. He met the eye contact evenly, with little emotion on his face. "I bandaged you up after last night." Jesse's deep brown eyes finally left yours, and he glanced down at the floor. You were silent. 

You noticed your backpack at his feet. Jesse realized this, and he seemed to remember something. He unzipped the bag, removing a manila folder that had been kept shut with a rubber band. He tossed it to you, and you sat up, picking it up from your lap. Jesse's hand drew down his face.

"You've been taking jobs, right? Assassinations. I found the orders in there. You've also got wanted posters. Two or three of 'em are mine." His voice was tired, he paused before continuing on.

"Do you even do backup checks on who you're working for, or who you're assassinating?" Your icy silence was enough of an answer for him. He sighed.

"And you went and got a code name for yourself too. All your employers call you Laverna. Like the Greek Goddess, right? You used to love ancient history." 

"Roman." 

"Pardon?"

"Laverna was a Roman Goddess."

He smiled faintly. 

"I missed you." 

You didn't return the act, instead your gaze went down to the folder in your hands. His face fell and he continued on.

"So why'd you do all those assassinations?" Your gaze slowly met his. "A lot of those people were working to solve the Omnic crisis, or make life better down here." Another pause. His voice was quiet. "Some of them were my friends." You bit your lip. 

"You can't pretend like you're all high and mighty McCree. We both know we've killed our fair share of innocents who didn't deserve it. Hell, Blackwatch was made to do the morally unacceptable actions that Overwatch couldn't, but needed, to do."

"But we did all those God-awful things to make it better!" He stood suddenly, and his fist slammed the footboard of your bed. "What's your purpose?!" Jesse's voice raised a pitch, and his tone was accusing.

"I don't have one anymore." Your words were quiet, and a crack was revealed in your icy facade. Tears welled up in your eyes. "I lost my way. I lost myself." You clenched your eyes shut, attempting to regain your composure. 

You were so confused. You missed him so much, and yet, you hated him. 

And then his arms were wrapping around you. You lashed out, screeching and flailing wildly in his grasp. You screamed profanities at him, cursing him and beating his arms with closed fists.

"Get off of me! Get off! Get away!" 

He didn't let go, his grip around you was gentle, yet unrelenting. Eventually your attacks stopped, and you dissolved into tears.

"I hate you Jesse McCree." You sobbed. 

"I know." His words were quietly accepting. "I know."

"You left me. You left me when I needed you. Why?"

"I was scared."

"So was I. But I didn't leave."

His arms pulled you in closer to his chest. Your head rested on his shoulder.

"I won't leave this time."

"Why not?" You whispered, your voice breaking.

"Because right now, we need each other more than ever."

.....

You'd been working with him for two months now, and your jobs had changed. He worked differently than you two used to, he had a purpose. You were still finding your purpose, but he was helping you. Eventually, you'd find it. He had faith in you, and that faith was infectious. You found yourself believing it.

You still woke up screaming at night, and you'd still have panic attacks, but he would crawl in bed with you and hold you until you calmed down and back into a dreamless sleep. 

He was still plagued with self doubt, and although it rarely showed, when it did, you were right there beside him. 

To your employers, the two of you were now known as Bonnie and Clyde. It was a nickname given with fondness. Jesse McCree and the mystery woman with whom he did his jobs. You didn't mind the new nickname, it was fitting. 

.....

"Achronistic Man and Masked Woman rob hypertrain." You read aloud, surveying the newsscreen on the side of the building. "We didn't rob that train, we were trying to get that package off, it was those operatives who wanted it, we were trying to save those passengers." You muttered, crossing your arms. Jesse shrugged, pulling the hood of your raincoat up over your head. 

He was dressed like an average civilian, wearing a raincoat and a pair of well fitting jeans. A scarf was tucked into his coat. The blue lights from his bionic arm were barely visible through the coat, and he wore a glove on his bionic hand. The two of you were trying to lie low for a bit. His hair was pulled back into a short messy ponytail. 

"I hate the rain", he muttered, his dark brown eyes looking upwards into the overcast sky. 

"I love it." You mused. He looked to you with interest, and he seemed to remember something.

"That's right, you grew up just south of 'ere, right? In Tacoma?" You nodded, turning to face him. 

"It's weird being back. I used to love visiting Seattle." You took a deep breath in, closing your eyes. The smell of food and the salty air flooded your senses. Seagulls were faintly heard above the throngs of people. 

"You certain I won't be recognized?"

Opening your eyes, you smirked. 

"Positive. You're practically unrecognizable while wearing clothes that aren't two and a half hundred years out of date." He rolled his eyes, and you shouldered your backpack. 

"We gotta find a hotel." He climbed back onto the hoverbike, and you climbed on back, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

"Sure thing."

.....

"So how long 'til we can get back to business? I caught wind of a job out East. Somethin' about the resurgence of Omnic attacks."

"Sounds messy." You mumbled. He rolled his eyes.

"Nothin's too messy for you, Bonnie." You grinned at his use of your nickname, and you pointed a finger gun at him, pretending to shoot him in the chest. He laughed.

"Damn right Clyde." 

You relaxed into the pillows of the bed, your head turning to look outside the window. A hypertrain rolled by. Your face fell. He watched you from his bed. 

"You're thinking about them again." He murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. You nodded, shivering in the cold air of the room. You were only wearing a tee shirt and underwear.

"Yeah." 

"Me too."

"They're always in the back of my mind."

He nodded, his gaze leaving you.

"Sometimes I think I'll see one of them." You were quiet. "I don't think I'll ever be free of them." You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment and climbing under the covers. "I need to get some sleep."

"Yeah. Okay."

.....

You woke in a cold sweat. Something was off. Jesse wasn't in his bed. Your eyebrows drew together. Climbing out of your bed, you walked to the bathroom and knocked gently on the door. 

"Hey, Jess, you in there?"

Gunshots rang out in the hall, loud and quick. Your blood went cold, and you grabbed your gun from your bag, you sprinted to the door, pausing before leaving. You could vaguely make out muffled voices from outside. 

"Where's the girl? Don't he work with a girl?" Your heart raced, and you adjusted your grip on the gun. Safety off, finger off the trigger. You stood next to the door, your back pressed into the wall, ready to attack as soon as the door opened.

Footsteps drew closer, and the door was kicked open, two men rushed into the room, and without second thought, you'd shot and killed them both. You rushed into the hall, finding Jesse lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. A strangled cry left your lips, and you dropped to his side, hugging his limp body. He was so cold. Why was he so cold?! Even if he had been killed, he was too cold. 

"This can't be real!" You cried, burying your face into his chest. And then his cold hands were wrapped around your throat. Your hands grasped his wrists, desperately trying to pull them away, but it was like fighting a statue. It was hopeless. Your lungs burned, and your esophagus was screaming. 

His eyes opened, but they weren't his eyes. They were dead and accusatory. 

"Murderer." He rasped.

You woke up screaming, thrashing around in your bed with the sheets tangled around your sweaty body. Jesse was then beside you, holding you in his arms and whispering into your ear.

"Hey, hey hey shhh, it's gonna be alright. It was only a nightmare." Your screaming reduced into sobs, and you twisted around in his grasp so you were facing into his abdomen. He sat up, still holding you. His bearded chin was on your head, and he continued to soothe you. Your hands grasped onto his shirt, and you buried your face into his chest. Eventually, your sobs quieted into deep shuddering breaths.

"You wanna talk 'bout it?"

You shook your head.

"Alright." He started to let go of you, and your grasp on him faltered, but then your lips collided with his. He was unresponsive for a moment, and you felt your heart clench. And then he slowly started to return it. It wasn't a rushed, messy kiss, filled with lust or desire, but it was full. It was filled to the brim with need and aching. He tasted like whiskey and those stupid cigars he'd smoke, and you wanted this to never end. Your lungs burned. He broke away before you did, placing his forehead against yours.

"Don't leave me." You whispered.

"I wouldn't dream of it Bonnie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a fun fic to write, I'm pretty sure it's done, I've got my point across and I don't really have anything to add. Thank you all for the support and kudos, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Note: Laverna was the Roman Goddess of thieves, cheats, and the underworld. I'm a history nerd.

**Author's Note:**

> Yuss. I'm working on part two right now, because I'm an asshole and I hate updating old stories. I'll try to get on those after I finish part 2.
> 
> No promises. 
> 
> Because I'm an asshole.


End file.
